


At the mirror

by AgostoAout



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Vampire AU, artist!bernie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgostoAout/pseuds/AgostoAout
Summary: For Bernadetta it was just another job - She was commissioned to paint the diva of Mittelfrank Opera. However she can't ignore the shivers down her spine everytime she's near her.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is really not that good but i had fun writing it and there's not much bernie/dorothea out there so i thought its better to post it than to leave it in my docs. 
> 
> also english it's not my first language so there may be typos etc

Bernadetta, a painter. Bernadetta, commissioned to paint portrait the opera diva. Bernadetta, with sweaty hands barely holding her sketchbook. When years ago she had had the courage to run away from her home and head towards the capital following her dreams of being an artist, with a suitcase and little money, ending up like this wasn't what she was expecting.

In front of the door of the woman who had all the men of the country at her feet Bernadetta hugged her sketchbook a little tighter. It was only about ten minutes since the guard had left her in front of the room and, despite calling several times, she had received no response. The only risk she could take when opening the door was to find herself in an empty room. And yet her heart was pounding in her chest. 

What if she interrupted her? What if she found an improper scene she didn't want to see, that would leave her completely red and unable to speak? She didn't want to think about the shame that would take hold of her body if she found the diva changing clothes. Or worse yet, taking a nap.

She had spent years in museums imitating the anatomy of statues, so she wasn't that scared of seeing the other woman, but it would still be terrible. But she couldn't wait any longer in the corridor.

She took the knob hoping that at any moment it would slip out of her hands from all the sweat that they had accumulated. In her weak and small voice she said one last "I'm coming."

The first thing her senses registered was the strong, unpleasant smell of blood and the vision she found justified all her earlier nervousness. The smell of blood filled her nose, the color red bathed the floor, the ceiling, and the huge mirror that reflected her horrified figure, as if it were making fun of her. 

The next thing she saw was the dying man, no, already dead, sprawled on the sofa of the suite. If she didn't get out of there quickly she would be next, she thought. A scream threatened to come out of her throat but she just stayed there, the scream choked, like a ball of food that prevents you from breathing. Her wet eyes began to lose vision within seconds, unable to focus on anything while everything around her was spinning.

"Run. Run as much as your thin little legs allow you." Her consciousness told her. 

"What are you doing here?" Said a voice behind Bernadetta. 

Slowly, as if somehow that was going to get her life spared, she turned her body. Moments earlier she had wished it to be an imaginary voice. Red, she continued to see red, on her lips, in her dress in her jewelry. No blood, or at least apparently. Her legs were about to fail her and she didn't even know what she had asked her who she supposed was the diva. She sighed as if she were in a completely normal situation and circled her to close the door. 

“Have you never been told that you should not enter a lady's room? I guess you are the painter.”

With the very little energy she could summon, she nodded. 

"Follow me."

The woman must have put some kind of spell on her, because she was completely sure that there was no way that she would walk so normally and naturally after seeing that horrible scene. It was as if her body was moving without her permission, but at the same time no one was forcing her to do anything.

She looked back one last time, wondering if she had really seen what she had seen or had it just been a macabre hallucination from her nervousness and exhaustion. Maybe her trauma had something to do with it, but even when the diva took her hand to keep her moving forward and her cheeks turned red, she could still smell the blood.

They ended up in a well-lit room, with large windows opening onto a small patio. At first it simply looked like a warehouse, with a multitude of things, messy and covered with cloth. But as soon as she lookedclosely she could see the canvases and the color palettes, all covered by fabrics. 

Dorothea, or what she thought the woman was called, took a scattered chair across the room and sat across from her. Bernadetta copied her gesture, and rested her notebook on her legs, in a somewhat uncomfortable posture. 

"I'm going to do some studies first." She started explaining, trying to calm her panic attack. She tried to keep her voice as stable and high as possible to mask it. "You can do various poses if you want. But this is a simple portrait. Later, in my studio, I will finish the work." 

The singer seemed almost disappointed. "Then you won't come back?" 

"If you don't need more portraits... no." 

Dorothea scratched her neck lightly in a gesture that Bernadetta identified as nervousness or discomfort. She wondered why the diva could be uncomfortable, when the one with all her senses on high alert and unable to stop smelling of blood was her. It felt as if from one moment to the next, perhaps in a blink or a pause to look at her drawing, the entire room was going to resemble the horror she had seen minutes before. 

It was thanks to thinking about this, and to her slippery hands, that her charcoal fell to the floor. She ran quickly to pick it up, knowing how fragile the instrument was, but it was too late. There, on the floor, divided into chunks and staining the carpet. Her previous fears resurfaced again and she suddenly felt like her entire body was frozen. Her vision began to blur again, all the hairs on her body standing on end. 

A figure was approaching her and she only interpreted danger. She thought she was going to die, she  **knew** she was going to die. Her fast breathing and the strong beat of her heart drowned everything around her and little by little she felt like breathing was becoming more and more difficult. 

Dorothea took the pieces and offered them to her. Her warm green eyes, her blushed cheeks, and her glowing smile bore nothing like the monster she'd felt haunt her.

"Are you ok?" She asked with those pearl-like teeth, hidden by crimson lips.

"Yes..." 

It was surely lack of sleep. Or her unstoppable anxiety, chasing her anywhere she went, like a ghost clinging to her shoulder, whispering the most horrible things to her. She settled back in her seat and took a good look at the woman. 

The key to drawing was observing your object, but the diva was so beautiful that her mind went elsewhere while trying to capture her features. They were not the features of a goddess, far from it. Everything about her screamed earthly, a person linked to the city and life in it. Her smile and her eyes reminded her of those women her fellow men painted as the greatest of dangers and temptations, and she had not believed herself capable of meeting someone like that in her life. 

But perhaps she was able to see beyond, and more than danger she saw invitation and a warmth in her gestures. It was true that it made her nervous, on the edge of her seat and she caused small panic attacks with her light touches. But for her that was the usual, and the small seconds of warmth that followed when they accidentally brushed skin to skin were what made her see her more favorable than the men and sometimes women with whom she had previously interacted. 

"I have heard that you are an artist somewhat innovative. Not following the rules of the academy" Dorothea said pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Well, most of them have never admitted women. Also, more and more artists are denying their teachings." She said, proud of not having stuttered.

"I don't know much about the art of painting. Would you mind explaining it to me?"

"Of- of course." She said, trying to capture the brilliance of her rings as accurately as possible in an sketch. "The academy has a very strict view on art. Perspective, use of color, composition... all of it it's teached in a single style, to their liking. But lately there are some painters who prefer to deviate from the norms they have imposed on art."

"I get it." She said, with a serious tone in her voice that made Bernadetta blush. 

"I learned on my own thanks to the paintings that were in my mansion. When... I came to the big city, I spent some years in the preparation schools for the academy, some accept women."

"You are very brave. Going so far in such a difficult profession ... you must be very good."

Bernadetta wanted to protest, to tell her the truth, that, if artists before her had not challenged the rules she would be nothing. That her art is nothing special and there are just too many people with money who want rare portraits to get the attention of their friends. She should also tell her that the contract specified that the portrait should be in a classical style, nothing revolutionary, so she would not see anything strange or innovative about it when it was finished.

However, Dorothea was very different from those models she had previously had. The request was from the opera company, she was just the diva to be portrayed. 

"Can you do another pose? I'm going to draw the next sketch." Dorothea nodded, and the next pose was no less distracting than the last. This time she was staring at her, her lips slightly parted. If she looked, and she had to look, she could see long canines in her mouth. 

Strangely, she didn't know if she had noticed them while they were speaking earlier. Perhaps it was because she wasn't used to looking people in the face in conversations, preferring to look at the shoulders or the floor instead.

More than two hours passed, they looking at each other, Dorothea to examining the nervous girl and Bernadetta to paint her as close to reality as possible. It was then, when she already believed that she had little left to finish, when another opera diva entered. Manuela, she believed it was her name. She had never liked going to the opera, too many people.

"Manuela! Don't interrupt the artist."

"Don't worry, I'm just coming to deliver this to you." She said, handing her a letter. 

The singer's happy face changed to confusion and finally to a seriousness that could usually be seen on the face of a soldier. This left Bernadetta stunned, wishing she could capture the other's expressions. Ugly or improper for a woman she didn't care, painting the diva had filled her with an inspiration that she previously lacked. If she could, she would make her her muse, but she would never be able to make the proposal.

With the two women talking about their things, she gave up on getting more sketches of Dorothea. She would have to work with what she had done, and when she was finished, deliver the result. The method was not her preferred, but it was the most the opera had let a woman do, no matter how much her name circulated in small groups of artists.

It was better this way, certainly. She wouldn't have to worry about her father appearing on her doorstep and snatching all the happiness she had achieved in her life. 

When they saw that she was ready to go Dorothea stopped her. She hadn't noticed before, but the feeling of being with a monster had disappeared as soon as Manuela had entered the room. Dorothea was still intimidating to her, but now she was just a tremendously beautiful woman with a wonderful personality and... well, a nice body.

“Please, I beg you to make me a painting with Manuela. I'll pay it out of my own pocket.”

"Dorothea! Do not say something so foolish." The woman adjusted her dress. "How are you going to pay for it? You need to save money."

Ignoring her, the diva turned to her mentor and took her hand. “Manuela, you don't know how much you mean to me. Can't I want something to remember my friend and mentor with?”

Manuela seemed to question it in her head, pursing her lips and finally sighing. "Okay, but I'll pay for it myself." 

They were both staring at her and Bernadetta opened her notebook again. She wasn't complaining, she would even make the painting free if it meant having someone so nice to paint. She was tired of hearing complaints that only further lowered her self-esteem. 

In the middle of the sketch, with Manuela standing and leaning against Dorothea, as a solemn and superior figure who protects the woman with her hands on her shoulders, she spoke. 

"Come to think of it, I don't know your name, little artist."

"Bernadetta." She whispered.

Manuela and Dorothea looked at each other, as if speaking through their eyes a language that Bernadetta did not understand. "I have contacts. If you want I can make you the official painter of the opera.”

This was too sudden for the scared woman, who almost let her notebook fall. "I appreciate it, you... you are very kind," she stammered. "But I don't think my other jobs will leave me time for this..."

"Other jobs?" It was Dorothea who spoke this time.

"Yes ... You see, I also publish some things that I write and sell little dolls that I make. Everything under pseudonyms, of course. ”

“You are very talented then. So many branches of art and you practice them all. ”

"Not all of them..." She said looking at the women. Their stances were proud and confident. She was however a bundle of nerves, always on the verge of screaming. She didn't know why they were so nice to her. Did they pitied her?

"How much do you earn?" 

"Sorry?"

"How much do you earn with your work?"

"Enough to have a small house in a not too bad neighborhood."

Manuela nodded and returned a glance to Dorothea, who seemed somewhat more lost than Bernadetta. They quickly regained their pose for the painting, and when Bernadetta got up saying that it was enough for today, the eldest approached her while Dorothea put the chairs in their original place. 

“Come back at the end of the week to continue with the paintings, and then we will talk about the offer I have made you. Think about it. ”

"Okay ..." She whispered. "But the director was pretty clear. I had to finish the paintings in my study. ”

"Hm! How are you going to capture the vibrant colors of our skins if you are not present? I will talk with him."

"Okay..." 

Awkwardly exiting the opera she stood in front of the diva's room. The smell of blood was still in the air. Now she knew it was not a hallucination. She was tempted to open the door again, to see if it was her senses tricking her. 

Unfortunately or fortunately Dorothea reappeared, and taking her hand as she had done before she led her to the exit. Small smiles and laughter did not allay Bernadetta's suspicions. The woman was beautiful, but she had a dead man in her suite. Her senses screamed danger, danger of death. The woman herself was not what scared her (mostly), but what she had done.

She hoped that in the next session Manuela wouldn't leave them alone. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing gay in this chapter except Bernadetta's thoughts

She hadn't started working on the sketches when a letter from the opera arrived at her house. It was a confirmation that she should continue working there instead of her study. 

The letter was immaculately written, something that made sweat run down her hands. 

She didn't know if she wanted to see Dorothea again. Being with her made her feel more nervous than usual, feeling like wanting to be closer to her and at the same time a feeling of anxiety and exhaustion that partially dissipated as soon as Manuela entered the room. 

Not that she was more comfortable with Manuela, but her presence made Dorothea appear much more human. Furthermore, she had not discovered anyone's corpse in her suite. 

She had decided to forget as much as she could about the subject but it haunted her during the day and night. She firmly believed in what her eyes had told her, but she could not and did not want to let the diva know anything. 

When she prepared her tools to leave for the opera, she remembered how Dorothea's touch felt, her hands on her wrist and her delicate fingers hugging her own. She found herself blushing improperly and, before panicking, performed the breathing exercises her teacher Byleth had taught her. 

The session went well. This time she found no body, and despite her minor panic attacks and remarkable interest in the singer that wouldn't let her vocalize a word, she never felt like she was about to be slaughtered and devoured by a monster. 

Thus, the following sessions were carried out, several times a week, hours and hours in front of the divas. When the first portrait was finished they asked her for another, and in the middle tiny pictures of the landscape and objects. The pay was good and the one who started to accompany her to the exit was Manuela. 

Dorothea was normally cheerful and loving, two qualities that Bernie did not possess. However there were times when sadness and discomfort adorned her gaze and her posture tensed as if she was about to testify in court. These occasions were either in the beginning of the sessions accompanied by a silent singer, or when she received a letter with the imperial seal. Manuela also didn't seem very happy on those occasions.

When she was leaving she could see remorse in her eyes.

It was these moments that she kept in her mind because, like her smiles and her beautiful lips, they were the ones that she had to learn to read to make a faithful representation in her paintings. 

When the rainy season arrived and the light from the outside was of little use for painting, the room gradually filled with candles and lamps. Occasionally these artificial lights produced strange effects, only visible through the corner of the eye and almost on the verge of escaping her perception. 

It was this aura of mystery, of knowing that something existed that was not right but at the same time not knowing what it was that caused the tranquility and trust that she had built with the two women to collapse. This time, after almost two months, she knew where it came from. As always, it was Dorothea. 

She didn't know what, she didn't know why, but her work as a painter and her need to pay attention to the smallest details had made her capable of not only feeling but seeing danger. 

Sharpening the last strokes of the portrait, she walked away. Everything looked good in Manuela. However, looking at Dorothea, all she felt was a sensation of something that is almost human, but that had left them far behind. 

Her job was to watch, and watch she did. She looked at her work and was able to identify the errors quickly. The shadows, unnatural, seemed totally artificial. One more glance at the model made her heart beat in her ears and her sweat turned cold. 

The shadows, each and every one of them, were of her own invention. From experience, knowing how the light works, she had guided herself without looking at the model and had left something imperfect. She thought about how to fix it, to eliminate the attempt of humanization that she had made or continue as if nothing had happened. 

"Something wrong?" Manuela asked, and Bernadetta raised her head in fear. Afraid to meet the eyes of the monster. 

But when she looked at Dorothea and saw the anguish hidden behind that smile of hers as Manuela squeezed her shoulder to give her comfort, she thought no more and started to paint more shadows. 

When the session ended the rain had not subsided. She thought about staying a little longer, as she had done before, but it was almost midnight. Dorothea was looking at her from across the room. 

"Hey, Bernie." She said. "Do you want to come to my house tonight?"

"Eh?" She could feel her whole face blush. She didn't know what to answer, her throat had suddenly dried and the look that Manuela gave them both didn't help. 

"Your house is far from here, mine is much closer." She looked at Manuela quickly, gesturing for her to put aside that knowing smile. "I just don't want you to get wet."

She agreed. Despite all the warnings her brain had given her, she accepted. 

Dorothea's apartment was nothing fancy. It was somewhat more spacious than your usual apartment, but most of the space was occupied by either boxes or dresses. 

The biggest of her problems was the only single bed the singer had. Bernadetta was sitting on it, nervous and shrunken. 

Dorothea was not far away, combing her long brown hair. "Do you mind if I change?" She asked interrupting her thoughts. She had not yet come out of the trance, since she nodded and had to force herself not to look as Dorothea spoke to her about various subjects. 

The feeling of danger never left her body but she could no longer deny her attraction. "I'm going to die." She thought, "But I'm going to die happy."

When Dorothea finished she asked if she didn't want to change her dress. Her blush face made Dorothea laugh a little, a wonderful sight, but she showed her the bathroom and lent her more suitable clothes to sleep. 

When she returned to the room Dorothea was already in bed. Reading a small book, the candlelight made her look ethereal. 

I'm going to die today, Bernie repeated to herself. Images of the bloody room ran through her mind.

It was when she took one of the chair cushions and placed it on the floor to accommodate herself that Dorothea became aware of her presence. 

"You're not going to sleep on the floor. The guests don't sleep on the floor, Bernie." Her tone ranged between hurt and joking. Bernadetta wasn't enthusiastic about the idea of sharing a bed, due her fear of Dorothea and her attraction to her. 

Without fighting the fatigue, she got under the covers next to the woman. When she opened her eyes she had Dorothea's face closer than ever, she could see her moles and every little imperfection of her face. It was a splendid sight, the happiness emanating from her eyes making her blush slightly.

But when she looked down at her slightly parted lips the world froze around her. Two long fangs stood out from between the other teeth, almost so long that Bernadetta wondered how she couldn't have noticed before. It wasn't until a few seconds after the sight that she looked up and saw the diva's hurt look.

She had realized that she had realized, and she seemed fearful. It hardly gave her time to see tears form in her eyes before Dorothea said a "Good night." and quickly put out the candle. Already in the dark she felt Dorothea turning around. Even with someone by her side, now she was totally alone. 

She was so confused that all Bernadetta knew was that she was suddenly not sleepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi I'm not dead


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen and now Dorothea avoids Bernadetta

She had to have fallen asleep at some point in the night because the first rays of the sun woke her up. A little disoriented she pressed her hands over her eyes to wake up faster. 

When she got up she noticed the free space beside her, Dorothea had woken up. Bernadetta could hear voices, the woman was talking to some guests. 

"So early?" She thought, but didn't give it much importance. The life of a diva was unknown to her. aaaaa

But the fact that there were more people in the house was a problem. If she wanted to go to leave, and she wanted to, she would have to go through the living room, the place where they were talking. 

Going over to her bag with her things and making sure they were all still there, she resigned herself to sitting on the bed. Hugging her knees she prepared to wait patiently for either Dorothea to remember she was there and save her somehow, or for the guests to leave.

It was not her intention to listen but it was impossible not to given the thin walls of the apartment. She was able to identify the guests as two, a man with a deep voice and a woman. If she concentrated enough she could understand the conversation. 

"Dorothea, you don't have to."

“Lady Edelgard is right. It would be a shame not to have your… services, but if they are harmful to you, I can always take care of it. "

"Services?" Bernadetta thought. What kinds of services were they referring to? Before assuming anything, she preferred to continue listening. She understood that opera paid quite well, but she hadn't seen the Diva's salary either. After all, Manuela reminded Dorothea that she should save money. Maybe ... maybe this was a second job? Something to do with the letters with the imperial seal?

It was definitely a job, because she was doing these people a service. Now, what kind of services and their pay was already up to the listener's imagination.

But did she need the money from this job? Looking around Bernadetta could not really see anything that was too expensive or exuberant to make the diva require more money. Yes, it was true, she had jewelry and dresses, but it was not that she lived in luxury. 

She kept wondering. Her pulse began to race, out of concern for the other woman and out of fear of thinking about what a mess she had gotten herself into. However, Dorothea's strong voice interrupted her thoughts. 

"You don't need to worry about me Edie! I'm… I'm fine. It's hard, it's true, but if I need something, be it whatever, I'll ask for your help. You don't need to worry… just tell me my next victim.”

"Okay" answered the so called "Edie".

Her mind quickly processed the word "victim." Her last train of thought was left behind, and Bernadetta cared little what Dorothea did with the money. What mattered now was the way to get it.

Flashes from the first night ran through her mind and she quickly got up from her seat. She was right, she had been right all this time. Her amplified anxiety, her fear, the constant sense of danger and the monstrosity that haunted Dorothea were not her imaginations as she had led herself to believe. 

She started to shake, suddenly feeling cornered in the small room. Yes, she had believed the diva to be a murderer, but knowing it was true wasn’t a pleasant feeling. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, nine, and ten. 

No, try again. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten. 

She repeated the exercises that her teacher Byleth had taught her a couple more times. This was no time to panic. Yes, her situation was not favorable but the least she had to do now was scream like she did when she was nervous. 

She simply had to wait for the guests to leave, change, and leave herself.

She just had to wait. They couldn't take long, they were saying goodbye already. 

But they spent more time talking. The woman's voice, this Edie, remembered something and kept the conversation going for another twenty minutes at least. Bernie's heart was pounding and she knew that if she had to do one more relaxation exercise she would run out of the apartment without caring about the other people in it. 

They finally left and Bernadetta was able to relax her sweaty fists. 

She waited a few minutes to get out, Dorothea was in the kitchen. As soon as Bernadetta greeted her, she excused herself to go change in the most natural way possible and didn’t linger in conversation. Dorothea seemed somewhat downcast from this, adding to her already bad mood, but Bernadetta was truly terrified. She didn't care about the mood of a murderer who could kill her.

When she was on the street she gave herself the privilege of taking a deep breath of air, but the anxiety didn’t go away. If the previous months had already been hard because of the continuous shadows that threatened her from the corner of her eye and the mysteries of the diva, from now on it wasn’t going to be easier.

She didn't know how she was going to introduce herself the next day, she didn't know if she should even go to the opera. Was it worth it? Yes, she would lose the money she makes, which was quite generous, but she would walk away from Dorothea. 

She didn't know what to think. Dorothea was nice to her and Bernadetta wasn't stupid. She knew her beauty dazzled her. But Dorothea was a murderer and the last thing she wanted was to be in this kind of mess. 

Perhaps this was a problem that could be resolved in her own home, over a cup of tea. She hoped, at least. 

In the end she resigned herself to return to the opera, following what the contract said. However, as soon as she entered, she noticed a big difference from the usual picture: Dorothea was nowhere to be found. 

She prepared her utensils to continue with the painting of the performance that had been commissioned, but from time to time she looked sideways to see if the diva was there, she didn’t know very well if because of fear or because of the strange affinity she had with her. 

Eventually Manuela approached her. With a weary expression she put a hand on one of her shoulders, perhaps more to keep herself calm than for Bernadetta. 

"Dorothea didn’t come today. She said that she was... unwell."

"Is something wrong?" She asked, trying to hide both her slight disappointment and joy at the same time. 

"No, it's just a stomach ache. You don't have to worry."

She wouldn’t have worried if it weren’t because for the next two weeks, coincidentally, whenever she approached the opera Dorothea was either running errands or mysteriously ill for a single day. Bernadetta wasn't stupid, and she knew well that what the diva was trying to do was avoid her. 

Maybe she knew that she had overheard her talking to those mysterious people in her apartment? Perhaps she knew that she had noticed her fangs, her strange presence and her complete lack of shadows? 

She finally decided that she did, and that perhaps she was afraid that she would report her to some authority or that she would reveal her secret?

She didn't even have that many friends to tell this to, and she feared more for her life than she cared about telling the truth. She didn’t understand why Dorothea avoided her, all the scenarios were unfavorable for herself and not for the diva. Heck,  **she** should be the one avoiding Dorothea. 

She had little time to think about it because she found herself spying on the diva again. Accidentally, that is. 

She opened the back door of the opera like so many other days, and she couldn't help but hear the discussion in the next room. 

"Manuela you just don't understand!" 

"I don't understand what? That you don’t like what your precious emperor tells you to do? That you don't like this whole situation?"

"No, you don't understand anything. I have no real problem with any of that. This, though." She paused to show her something, Bernadetta guessed. "It’s a problem."

Bernadetta, frightened by the discussion, was already turning around to enter through any of the other doors of the opera, but Dorothea slammed the door of the other room. Breathing loudly and frowning, she noticed the artist who was too scared to face her. 

They stayed like that for a few seconds, Dorothea trying to figure out how much Bernadetta had heard. She shook her head and shoved Bernadetta slightly to walk out the door. 

Bernadetta was slightly scared, but regained her composure quickly. Before the diva could blend into the people of the city, she raised her voice. 

"How long are you going to avoid me?" 

Dorothea stopped, yes, but didn't bother to answer her. She gave her a small sideways glance and continued on her way. 

Bernadetta reentered the building, but her heart seemed like it was about to explode. If Dorothea had no intention of murdering her earlier, now she certainly must. She gripped the handle of her briefcase tightly and let Manuela, who had left the room and was looking at her with concern, guide her to what she was asked to paint this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there might be some typos and gramatic mistakes in this but i dont care anymore


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the truth.

While she was painting the room was silent except for Manuela's small movements. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable but Bernadetta didn’t want to inquire into her life, nor did she know how to start a conversation in such a tense situation. 

"When you were with Dorothea…"

"Yes!?" she raised her head. She did not expect Manuela to speak to her.

"Two people came to visit him, right? Did you listen to the conversation?"

"No." Instinctively, she lied. Manuela stared at her, inspecting her face for any sign of nervousness. She found many because she suddenly started sweating and her hands became shaky. 

"Tell me the truth." She said this time, in a firm tone. "Tell me what you know."

She dropped her brush. Fixing her gaze on the ground she began to speak, with the feeling that if she lied even a little the other woman would know. 

"Dorothea has a second job and talks to a certain 'Edie'. The job is for the emperor. She has victims and you are all worried about her."

"Very good." Manuela smiled at her, but she knew it was a fake smile. "You know more, haven't you? I know you’re not dumb, what you told me it’sjust what you've heard."

"The first day her whole room was bloody. There was a man and... I'm sure she's a serial killer. A hit... woman. She doesn't cast shadows and every time she gets close to me all my hairs stand on end ... it's like being next to a demon."

Manuela sighed and looked away. Bernadetta was still nervous but it didn't look like she was going to receive any imminent punishment, so she raised her head. The diva bit her lip, thinking in her own bubble that separated her from the world. She didn't want to interrupt her, as if a single word from her was going to destroy everything around her at the same time as the silence. 

After a few minutes Manuela took a deep breath and spoke again. "Do you know why we hired you?" 

Bernadetta shook her head. 

"We didn't want you to talk about what you saw. We didn't want you to notice either, and I'm glad that despite all our carelessness and slip-ups it has taken so long for the situation to become so tense."

"So it was all a selfish sham?"

Deep inside she knew it. She knew that nothing had really been as beautiful as her eyes saw it and she knew that what her brain was telling her was true from the start. That's why she wasn't in shock, that's why it seemed so logical. But knowing it didn't make it hurt less.

"Not not all. Some things were genuine. Dorothea really likes you and she appreciates you."

She didn't know how to react to that. Did she have to be flattered? Did she have to have any positive reaction? Yes, Dorothea was pretty and she blushed when the woman smiled at her, but Dorothea was what she had feared from the start.

"This will be your last day here. I'll keep sending you money, if that's what you want so you don't talk, but the situation right now is..."

"I don't want to receive money without working." It was the only thing she could find the strength to reproach. 

"It's not your decision, little Bernie."

And so Manuela ended the conversation. Bernadetta felt too bad emotionally to talk again and Manuela, despite being physically in the room, had her mind elsewhere. 

When the hours passed and the dark blue of the night sky began to be visible Bernadetta gathered her things in front of a Manuela that still didn’t pay attention to what she was doing. With a strange bravery in herself Bernadetta raised her voice, startling the other woman. 

"Why is Dorothea avoiding me? She’s the one that’s dangerous. And I already know everything."

"She has taken a liking to you, I said so." Manuela said, after a few seconds of silence. "And it wasn't the best idea to keep you scared and anxious every time you see each other. The more attentive you are the more capable you are of realizing her… inhuman qualities. It wasn't a good idea from the start."

"Oh." She responded, almost disappointed. She had longed deep within herself for a much more sentimental reason. "And why haven't you got rid of me? It's simpler than spending money on a cheap painter."

"Bernadetta, your paintings are beautiful. And Dorothea having an unusual job does not mean that she is a monster who holds human life in low esteem. She does not kill for pleasure."

"But is she human?"

For the first time since they had met Bernadetta had left Manuela speechless and not the other way around. She closed her mouth, now turned into a final line. It said that it was a complicated subject. She felt guilty and quickly apologized. 

With her things packed, she grabbed her bag and walked towards the door. When the first breeze of the night cooled her face it was when she finally realized that that day would be the last time she would see them. 

It made her sad, but she also felt relief. Relief that she was no longer going to fear for her life. But the truth was, she had gotten used to the new routine. She knew she had… certain feelings for the woman and now that she knew the truth the fear that ran through her heart had slightly dissipated. 

It was a fitting ending to the story. After being pitied by two beautiful women, the truth is revealed and she returns to her previous life with unresolved feelings and the other two lose nothing. 

It seemed unfair somehow and she wished she had spent more time with Dorothea. Yes, she scared her, but not enough to appease her feelings or make her want to run away from her. At first yes, but now... now he wanted to know her reasons and find out more about her inhuman nature. 

Without knowing why she was doing this, she turned around and went back into the opera. Manuela had not yet left the room she used to paint in and jumped when Bernadetta yanked the door open.

"You are not going to get rid of me so easily." She declared aloud. Manuela stared at her in puzzlement, and when Bernadetta realized what she had done her face turned completely red. 

"Ah, sorry. I'm… I'm going home." 

She strode out of the room. Not fast enough apparently, because Manuela stopped her by grabbing her arm. 

"Do you really want to continue working? That means you accept Dorothea as she is."

He did not turn around. For a few seconds he didn't even answer, but noticing Manuela's growing impatience he begged his brain to work.

"Yes." She said, too fast. Manuela released her and murmured "Good. Wednesday at the same time as always. *

When Manuela's footsteps were heard far enough away Bernadetta collapsed on the ground, trying to calm her rapid breathing and the tears that were coming from her eyes. What had she just done? 

For the second time in her life she had brought out within herself a courage that could not exist in a little woman as cowardly as her, a courage that had led her to do an unnecessary, shameful, dangerous action. 

Yes, she wanted to see the diva again but what would she do? What would happen? Would all be better or would their relationship be filled with mistrust and fear? 

She should have returned home and continued with her normal life. Doing the dishes, cooking a little, embroidering the edges of her clothes and praying that her father will never find her. 

After a while, she got up quickly, almost falling to the ground and briskly fled the opera and rushed back home. As soon as she entered, she collapsed in front of her door and tried to perform the breathing exercises. 

Everything was fine. Everything was going to be okay. “Manuela and Dorothea are fond of me, I know that. They won't do anything to me.”

The only problem is that she was… her. She was Bernadetta von Varley, and she had fallen in love with a woman that wasn’t even human. With a woman so beautiful that made Bernadetta look like the worst of abominations, a woman who was so out of her reach that the closest she could get to her was in the paintings she made herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two chapters left but I haven't written either of them, so... it might take a while to finish this fic.   
> Again, sorry for typos or any gramatical mistakes. I'm not putting too much effort on these and im not a native english speaker.


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